I Owe You A Love Song
by MistressParamore
Summary: Lady Ramkin shut the door on Sam Vimes. What if she had gone after him? M rating, but hopefully tastefully done. Epilogue added. Rating for epilogue - T.
1. Chapter 1

_**Title**_: I Owe You A Love Song

_**Pairing**_: Sam Vimes / Lady Sybil Ramkin

_**Rating**_: M (but hopefully tastefully done)

_**Spoilers**_: Guards! Guards!

_**A/N:**_ What can I say….OTP

_**Summary**_: _**Lady Ramkin shut the door on Sam Vimes. What if she went after him?**_

* * *

The noise of the front door slamming replayed again in his mind. There just didn't seem to be any getting away from it, no matter what. Her face...she seemed to have expected...what exactly?

Sam Vimes squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing them with his fingers, as if the act of rubbing them would somehow erase the image burned into his retinas of Lady Ramkin's pensive, disappointed face. She seemed to have been expecting something. The fact that she had tried to disguise her upset got to him more than if she had burst into tears in front of him. Not that she would, that would be very un-Sybil. But Vimes discovered that he didn't want her to ever suffer disappointment, or upset, and the knowledge made him groan in despair.

He leaned back against the peeling wall and drew one leg up, resting his arm that held the now half full bottle of Jimkin Bearhuggers finest on his knee. He studiously ignored the unmade bed underneath him, after all, what was the point of making it? The springs had sprung years back, but Vimes didn't care. One time, many years ago, the shiny new recruit might have cared. But time dripped its corrosive experience into the very essence of his soul, and the cynical, jaded Captain sneered at the naïveté of his former self.

Self medication, keep from caring too much. Drink to forget. Drink to forget drinking. Right now, drink to forget _her_ face. Forget that _you_ cared. Forget that _she_ cared.

Forget that you can't even remember the last time you cared...let alone about a woman. _Gods, there's not enough Bearhugger's in the godsdamn world..._

A knock on the door made him jump. Glancing at the dirty window Vimes saw thin moonlight fighting a losing battle with the grime. Should he have been patrolling? He couldn't remember. He eventually worked out how to use his legs and padded to the door in bare feet, glaring at its chipped surface, bottle still in hand. He rubbed his face, feeling the stubble rasp under his fingers. Blearily, he stared at the door, as the person on the other side knocked again.

"Sam?"

"Shit," he muttered. "just..._shit_," he ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

Vimes opened the door, scruffy and unshaven, shirt pulled loose from his breeches and holding the bottle of Bearhuggers. From his expression it was evident that he didn't care who saw him like this.

"Come in."Vimes said flatly.

Sybil entered the small room cautiously, casting nervous glances at Vimes. Her demeanor was the fragile one of someone who has just dammed a flood. She sat down on the only seat, a rickety chair. Vimes sat back down on the bed.

"What do you want, _Milady_?" He asked, purposely stressing 'milady.' "Surely _**I**_ don't have anything you could possibly want." He finished bitterly, taking another swig straight from the bottle.

"I'm sorry for earlier. I...I didn't want you to go, you know." Sybil's cheeks flushed pink.

Vimes blinked. He took another swig. He said nothing.

Sybil looked at him, unsure and hesitant. Her heart constricted at Vimes' continuing silence. Unbeknown to her, his mind was whirling.

"Perhaps I should go," she whispered as despair washed over her.

"No!" Vimes said suddenly. "I mean...stay, please."

Sybil turned from the door, surprised, as Vimes stood, putting the bottle down on the spindly bare table.

"I couldn't find the words, to explain, before, I mean..." he stammered.

Standing in front of her, he lightly placed his hands on her shoulders, noticing her reactive shiver.

"I wanted to do _this_," he whispered, as he gently brought his lips to hers. Pulling back a little, he looked down at her. Her full mouth was slightly open, her breathing had quickened, he noted with satisfaction, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes had widened, giving her a vulnerable air of innocence far away from her usual boundless self assurance.

He bent his head and kissed her again, deeper and slower, slipping his hands from her shoulders to rest lightly on her waist. She gasped softly against him, resting her hands on his shoulders and unconsciously gripping as the sharp arousal lanced through her. Vimes rested his forehead against her neck.

"Tell me now if you're going to want to leave," he whispered, "because if it goes any further I'm not going to want to let you go."

He felt her fingers tighten reactively. "Don't stop," she whispered back.

Lifting his head, he kissed her neck softly, finally allowing himself to let go without restraint. His hands roamed up and down the sides of her dress, as he kissed her neck and throat, feeling her shivers underneath his lips and her soft moans were going straight to his manhood. He was already so hard it almost hurt. Gripping her hips he pulled her flush against him so she could feel exactly what it was she did to him. Not only was he well and truly standing to attention, but ready to salute too.

A cold breeze made him look down, she had already opened his shirt and splayed her hand across his lightly muscled chest. He smiled at her as he captured her lips once more, swirling his tongue over hers as his hands dropped down to her rear. A gasp of surprise that turned rapidly to a low moan as he pulled her against him made him smile. She pulled his shirt down his shoulders and her lips were on his chest, almost drinking him in as one who slaked a thirst. Gently placing his hand against her neck, he softly tugged her back up, shivering as her lips left his skin. His hands met around her back, finding the buttons of her dress, fumbling with clumsy hands as his body concentrated all of its energies in one place only.

Her gaze locked with his as she felt the buttons open one by one, seeking and finding confirmation and reassurance in his own gaze. The dress fell down to her ankles revealing the soft skin that so tantalised Vimes. Hungrily he pulled her back into his arms and claimed her mouth again in a desperate kiss, hands roaming her back and sides, almost as if committing every inch to memory. Sybil trembled as the skin on skin contact inflamed her, Vimes' hands mapping every curve and hollow, his kiss making her senses sing.

Her hands dropped to his belt buckle, tugging the leather strap through the loops as Vimes kissed across one shoulder, his hand softly cupping one breast through the thin corset cup. Her sharp intake of breath by his ear and nails biting into his back caused electricity to jolt up his spine and he nipped softly as his fingers lightly stimulated her nipple through the cup. She groaned as her hips unconsciously pushed against his arousal in reaction to the stimulation. Vimes kissed softly back up her neck as his other hand cradled her other breast, teasing and stimulating as she clung to him, hands gripping his shoulders, whimpering into his neck as the erotic stimulation coursed through her.

Capturing her lips once more, Vimes slowly walked them backwards to the narrow bed. Dropping his hands to the front of the corset, he began fumbling with the small buttons, all but tearing the article from Sybil's body in his haste. Pulling back slightly, he stared intently at her body as the corset dropped to the floor, revealing her large breasts to Vimes heated gaze. He didn't think it was possible to be any harder, as he scrutinised the expanse of fragrant, pale flesh in front of him. Her breasts looked so touchably soft, the nipples rosy and stiff.

He dropped his head and captured one in his mouth, stimulating the nerves with tongue and lips, sucking and lightly grazing his teeth across the sensitive point. Sybil arched against him, the delicious ache pooling between her thighs, unashamedly moaning out his name into the silence of the room. Vimes felt a jolt of fire cascade through him as he heard his name moaned with such abandon, and it took all of his self control not to tear off her knickers and drive himself home in a single blind lunge.

Pushing her gently, he stood over her as she sat down on the narrow bed. Shuffling across, she watched as Vimes tugged off his breeches and joined her on the bed. Even though their contact had only been broken for a few seconds, it was too long. Vimes wrapped his arms around her again, pulling every inch of her flush against him as he kissed her deeply. Sybil tangled her fingers in his hair, raking them through in increasing intensity as the pressure mounted. Vimes leaned over her, encouraging her to lie on her back as he kissed down her jawline, down her neck, her chest, her breasts. Breathless moans encouraged him, worshipping her milky skin with each kiss. Had he _ever_ actually been turned on before? He didn't think so, not now. Vimes' own breath was coming in short pants as he hooked a finger in the waist of her underwear. Again their gaze locked. Vimes in silent query. Sybil nodded as her eyes fluttered back closed.

Tugging the material down her legs, Vimes tugged his own briefs down as he kissed her so softly.

"Sybil..." he whispered against her lips. It wasn't a question, or a statement, but it expressed everything he was feeling. Her sighing response of "Sam..." told him she understood. His hand drifted down, slid between her thighs. A sudden gasp and throaty moan electrified him as he explored and rubbed, probed and stimulated, kissing her deeply and swallowing her groans of pleasure. A sudden stroke to his erection made his breath hiss between his teeth. He indulged himself in her soft touches for a moment before snagging her wrist.

He repositioned himself, looking deep into her eyes as he paused, hovering over her, looking for final confirmation of her desires. Her eyes fluttered open, the colour darkened. "Sam...please" she breathed, nails digging in to his back as she pulled him closer.

Lost in the erotic maelstrom, and lost in her, Vimes did exactly what she wanted. Throwing his head back, chest and shoulders gleaming in the moonlight streaming through the open window, Vimes fought for control as he sheathed himself slowly inside her, feeling the transitory resistance of her flesh give way to him. The tight, slick heat was very nearly his undoing, it felt so good. Around him Sybil quivered as he built up a slow rhythm, moaning with abandon as the thrusts started a searing coil of pleasure deep inside. Beads of sweat began to show on Sybil's chest and face, testament to the force of the pressure building within her, Vimes could feel the sweat trickling down his own chest and back as his control began to slip and he thrust faster, caught up in the circle of ecstasy. Sybil cried out as her release neared, incoherent moans building in pitch and volume until her back arched, nails gouged down his back as she spasmed and cried out his name, shuddering violently underneath him. Vimes growled as he thrust faster, jets of fire shooting through his veins as he shouted out his own release, still feeling the contractions around him of Sybil's climax.

Vimes collapsed onto her, head pounding and rolled over to one side, taking in her flush and closed eyes. Sybil was breathing quickly, still feeling the last tendrils of her release rippling softly through her. Vimes felt his heart melt a little more as he took in her unintentional vulnerability and kissed her gently, draping his arm over her and dropping his head on her shoulder. Never had any woman (not that there were that many) climaxed with such force with him. His senses were still scattered as Sybil opened her eyes slowly and turned her head, smiling softly.

Vimes lifted his head, smiling back and spooned in behind her, nuzzling his face into her neck holding her tightly, breathing in her sweet scent. He felt her sigh contentedly.

"Sam?"

"Mmmmm?"

"...nothing..."

"No, what is it?" Vimes lifted his head slightly.

"It'll sound silly, really,"

"That doesn't matter," he murmured kissing her shoulder.

Gods he couldn't get enough of her. The thought that Sybil, Lady Ramkin, was naked in _his_ bed, in his narrow single bed, in his sparsely furnished plain room with the paper thin curtains and leaky window above the candlemakers, made his head spin.

This was the stuff of fairytales, not the life of Sam Vimes. And yet, here she was, in his arms, not running away, not crying, and it had been the best sex of his life.

"I don't want you to leave Sam," Sybil said quietly.

Vimes pondered that statement. He didn't point out that it was actually his room they were in, sensing the fragility of the moment.

"I'm not," he murmured back. "I want to be where you are."

She twisted in his arms, and the smile on her face told him he couldn't have said it better.

Fairytales were what you made them.

_[Title taken from Shiny Toy Guns' album Season of Poison]_

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_**Comments always appreciated**_


	2. Chapter 2

**I Owe You A Love Song - Epilogue**

_**What happened the morning after?**_

* * *

_**A/N: I'm not sure what I think of this, I had difficulty making it flow but I hope it makes sense. Certain libertis have been taken with exact speech etc, but not too much.**_

* * *

Vimes rose from the clouds of pink fog that had enveloped his sleep and blinked owlishly, caught in the nanoseconds before his brain caught up with his body. He looked over and saw her. His heart did that peculiar little leap as he watched her wreathed in the depths of sleep, but something was scrawling its grafitti on the wall of his subconscious. Sliding his arm around Sybil's waist, he pressed up against her, parts of his body eagerly preparing for an encore. The grafitti was getting bigger in his minds eye. Really, really large. And finally the message his brain was trying to convey finally broke through.

Under his breath Vimes muttered "any of them get out?"

"Shit! Shit, shit, shit..."

Vimes sat bolt upright, thoughts whirling. There was no time to waste. He leaped out of bed, climbing hastily into his breeches and yanking on his hastily discarded shirt.

_Sybil_... she was sleeping on, undisturbed. Vimes did a mad little dance in the middle of the small room - alternately moving towards the bed, and then towards the door in an agony of indecision.

Finally he made himself wrench open the door, and he cast a sorrowful look at the sleeping woman in the bed.

Traitorous thoughts piped up in his mind as he descended the steps from his lodgings.

"_As if you'd ever be able to make anything with Sybil_," they jeered. "_It never meant anything, no matter what she said. It's just post-coital anyway, everyone talks rubbish after sex_."

Post-what? Vimes groaned. _After sex, you know? When you're feeling all silly and cuddly?_ Vimes glowered. _Women get like that_. He really tried not to think of Sybil's face when she realised she was alone. He really hoped she wouldn't track him down and kill him, although he wouldn't blame her if she did. She didn't seem to be the kind of person who would let an absconding man get away without comment.

At the moment, Vimes' future was looking to be short and painful. He had a choice of an angry dragon or an angry Sybil, and at the moment Vimes was favouring his chances with the dragon.

As he careered towards the Patrician's Palace, Vimes let his rage build. Rage at the destruction to his city, rage at the impotence of the Watch, rage at the arrogance of the city leaders, rage at his interrupted time with Lady Ramkin. _The one time something really bloody good happens..._ he clamped down on that thought. _The bastard dragon's even going to have that,_ he thought, glaring at the sky.

"Any of them get out?"

* * *

Stretching, Lady Ramkin nuzzled deeper into her pillow. Her eyes drifted back closed and a small, happy smile played about the corners of her mouth. Hanging on to the last tendrils of sleep, she murmured, "Sam?"

Slightly louder, she tried again. "Sam?"

Frowning slightly, she rolled over. And found herself facing a brown, peeling, bedroom wall. The thin bedclothes were bunched up on one side, the cold spot indicating that the other occupant of the bed had risen some time ago.

She was alone. After the emotional roller coaster of the last day and night, Lady Ramkin gave in to her feminine side. She began to cry.

* * *

"What?!"

"Ooook."

"Not in my bloody city! You hear?"

"_Ooook_."

"Ah. Sorry."

A man who can lift a 300lb Orangutan and not notice, is a man with too much on his mind.

* * *

Lady Ramkin lay awake staring at the ceiling, tracing the faint cracks that she had memorised long ago in her girlhood. Surely she hadn't been such a colossally bad judge of character...? Had she? Was she simply an old fool, what most of her contemporaries thought anyway? Was she that desperate that the first man she felt attracted to was automatically _'the one?'_ No, she vehemently shook her head. That wasn't it. She'd seen Sam in his most unguarded moments last night, and she knew she wasn't wrong. Something else must have made him leave so quickly. The way he looked at her, as if he was seeing her for the very first time, the way he literally worshipped her as he kissed her and held her, the way they joined together. She knew instinctively that was true.

Suddenly, Lady Ramkin sat upright. Something wasn't right. It was too quiet. Lady Ramkin's bedroom looked out over the dragon pens and she was used to sleeping with the slightly rasping sound of scales and the occasional flaming of a gravid female. What she wasn't used to was complete silence. It had the same effect as an alarm clock. Slipping out of bed, ignoring the nightdress she was wearing, she padded downstairs and out towards the pens. The little dragons were all staring intently at the roof of their pens.

Lady Ramkin sighed. As much as she loved her dragons, she felt..._preoccupied_. Worried. Despite her own reassurances that Sam wouldn't have been deliberately cruel, she needed to see him. Needed to _know_. Know that he was..._real_. True. Who was she kidding? She needed to know that the person she had given all of herself to last night was not discarding her after he had had what he wanted. She couldn't trivialise it, it ran too deep within her. She knew some women gave themselves without much thought, as far as she was concerned people could live their lives how they pleased, but she was in her mid forties. It was a huge thing she had done, and she needed to know that it was not for nothing. Sighing again, Lady Ramkin shook herself out of her reverie. Glancing at the door at the end of the pens, she saw the outline of a guards uniform. _Sam_! Her heart leapt in her chest and she trembled with nerves. Silly, considering what they had done last night. But her heart was pounding, her stomach churned and her palms were sweaty. Quickly, she ran upstairs in the dark and grabbed her best wig, and fumbled on the dressing table for a bottle of long-forgotten perfume. In her haste, she sprayed on far too much. Coughing, she made her way to the front door. _Wait_...she twitched the neckline of her sensible nightie into a more revealing position and smiled winsomely as she opened the door.

"Why Captain, this _is_ a...who the hell are you!"

* * *

Vimes was very nearly swept off his feet by the sea of people swarming towards the Plaza of Broken Moons. Here and there he heard snatches of conversation. There was a feeling in the air, not excitement, but expectation, and a strong under current of primal fear. Surely they wouldn't condone... Not _here_, not Ankh-Morpork...

Approaching the plaza he craned over the heads of the crowd. It looked like a...a... huge rock... Gods only knew where they'd got it from, Ankh-Morpork was built on loam. _Not in my city,_ he growled low in his throat. Dragon or no dragon, no one was going to be sacrificed on Vimes' watch. Waving his cleaver, he started running through the crowd towards the plaza, expecting at any point to feel his spine reaching the vaporising point of iron. Shouldering his way through the crowd, he felt his legs moving as if in slow motion as he saw the identity of the woman chained to the rock.

His heart hammered in his chest, and it had nothing to do with the imminent arrival of the dragon and everything to do with Lady Ramkin who was, at that moment, training a murderous look upon him.

"You!"

"You!"

Lady Ramkin was tethered at ankle and wrist, splayed over the rock. Her nightie was flapping in the soft breeze and the fact that she was very nearly giving the crowd a free show due to the rips and the torn neck line, was making it very difficult for Vimes to concentrate.

He stood and waved the cleaver ineffectually as he struggled for something to say. He really should try to apologise, he decided.

"I, er, that is, er..."

"Captain Vimes, you will kindly oblige me by putting that cleaver to its proper use!"

_**Whump**_.

Vimes felt his blood turn to ice.

Hurriedly he began hacking at the chains.

_**Whump**_.

The sound was felt, rather than heard. It was literally a wall of sound.

Both wrists done.

_**Whump**_.

The down wind almost knocked him to his knees.

One ankle done.

_**Whump**_.

A hissing noise percolated through Vimes' consciousness. It sounded like something large, say, a dragon, taking a deep breath. He swallowed.

Second ankle done.

_**Run**_.

Suddenly a small dragon shaped bullet screeched over the heads of the crowd.

The great dragon, momentarily distracted, focused on the intruder.

Pushing through the crowd, legs like jelly, Vimes guided Lady Ramkin out of the Plaza and down a quiet street. He knew he needed to do some explaining, and, well, it was important wasn't it? When he felt that they had run far enough, he paused for breath.

Squinting, realised that they were only a few minutes from his lodgings. In an unusually acquiescent moment, Lady Ramkin allowed him to take her arm and lead her down another street, stopping by a candlemakers shop that looked familiar. She smiled as she saw his uneasy glance in her direction. She wondered if he knew how adorable he looked. She doubted he would appreciate being told that, she mused as they ascended the narrow, dark stairs to Vimes' lodgings. Sitting on his bed, watching him run his fingers through his hair as he tried to compose himself, Lady Ramkin allowed the memories to surface. His first tentative kisses, gaining in confidence and urgency as he was reassured of her utter compliance, hands ghosting over every curve of her body and making her soul sing like it had never done before. Oh yes, she was in no way regretting her encounter. She shifted slightly on the bed as a now familiar ache began to call for attention.

On the other side of the room, Vimes was staring intently at her. Behind the intense stare, unbeknownst to Lady Ramkin, Vimes was having a serious argument with himself.

_Apologise. You ran out on her, left her alone, the morning after! Like every other scumbag that runs out on women!_

"I, um, about. Er. This morning. Very. Er." He coughed urgently as he felt the burn of shame and embarrassment collect its well overdue payload. He tried again. "I didn't, um." He licked suddenly dry lips as his mouth felt like parchment. Lady Ramkin was doing nothing to assist the situation as her torn nightie was revealing parts of her figure that Vimes had seen before his mind's eye for the entire day and was eager to get reacquainted with.

"It's ok, Sam," Lady Ramkin murmured.

"It's not!" Vimes exploded. He clutched his head. "I ran out, it's inexcusable, I left you, but I didn't want to, I had to arrest Wonse..." his voice tailed off.

"Come here." Lady Ramkin patted the space next to her on the still unmade bed. Vimes walked slowly across the room, pulling off his boots as he sat down. Lady Ramkin turned to him.

"I know you wouldn't have gone if you didn't have to. I thought about it all day, and I just knew you weren't like that, Sam." She smiled gently. "That's why i'm still here."

Vimes stared at her. What had he done in his pathetic life to deserve such as her? Before his addled brain could think of any new way to humiliate him, her lips were suddenly on his and interesting parts of her anatomy were making thinking suddenly impossible.

Vimes pushed her back gently and repositioned himself so he was looking down upon her softly smiling face.

With a quirk of her lips, she asked "are you planning to stay this time?"

Smiling back, he slid his hand lightly over the curve of her hip, underneath the remains of the nightdress. "Oh yes," he murmured, delighting in her unconscious shiver. "A lifetime."

* * *

_**Fin**_.

* * *

_An unashamedly squee ending!_


End file.
